Titans on the Run
by CapeTownMagician
Summary: He was in it to win it. But when his life and that of a young boy is threatened, Mark has no choice but to help the Autobots. But how can he do anything while trying to win the worlds most dangerous race. The Run
1. Chapter 1

**Titans on the Run**

**Prologue**

**San Francisco…**

The sun was just setting over the golden gate bridge. It was just like any other day but to Mark, it was a sight to behold. There was no argument. He lived in the most beautiful city in the world.

He shifted in his seat that he had precariously positioned on top of his garage's roof. The building was dilapidated and in need of some love, but as its owner was always on the move, there was very little time to tend to its upkeep. The cars parked in it however, required constant attention. While the Nissan and the Audi were in perfect working order, they were collecting a layer of dust. This was because for the last two weeks Mark's attention had been completely devoted to the M3. He had torn out all the standard body parts and replaced them with carbon fiber, added an additional fuel tank in the boot for extra mileage, and had taken the liberty of replacing the windscreen and side windows with thicker glass. This modification did add quite a bit of weight to the car, but it was a necessary precaution. Mark wasn't if the other drivers would play nice throughout the entire race, especially with this much money on the line.

Finance wise, Mark was now broke. The amount of investment that had gone into this race had been astronomical. Aside from the $250,000 entry fee, there had been the purchase of 2 extra cars and the loaning of a third. Not to mention the necessary modifications made onto each of them.

However it was not like Mark couldn't afford all of this. Over the past two years he had managed to maintain a very healthy bank account. The street races that took place along the West coast tended to involve drunken rich kids whose parents had no idea of how much money their children were basically handing over to the more professional drivers. With the winnings he had accumulated Mark had set himself up in San Francisco, all the while studying for a journalism degree. There was no denying it though. When it came to racing, Mark may have been a criminal, but he had phenomenal skill.

He looked down at the tablet he was holding in his hands. Turning it on he was presented with a map of the US, with an orange line running across the middle of it. This was the route of the race. Mark had to admit he was impressed by the organizing of the event and how something this big had gone unnoticed by the authorities. 2000 miles, 200 racers, a pot of 25 million. Nevertheless, when this thing did start, the cops would react harshly.

But Mark had done his own preparations, and he was ready. The M3 was waiting downstairs, the Quattro was under a tarpaulin at a petrol station at the start of the Rockies, the SLS was locked up in a secure garage just outside Denver, and upon making a phone call earlier, he was assured by his friend Tony that the 911 GT3 would be ready by the time of his arrival in Chicago. All cars were full to the brim with gas and were ready to be driven.

Mark stood up and cautiously made his way over to the opening in the roof. He wanted to get an early night, as to be wide awake when driving the next day. The starting point was Nobb Hill, approximately 3 miles away from his place.

Four days from now he would be in Manhattan, the finish line.

The run was about to begin, and Mark was feeling confident.

How many surprises could there be?

**To be continued….**

**Author's note: Updating may take time, as I am currently writing another Transformers story, So please bear with me. If interested in my other work, just check out **_**my stories**_** list or search for 'a Certified chain of events.'**

**Thanks **


	2. The West Coast

**The West Coast**

The sun slowly rose over the hills of San Francisco. Most of the city was still asleep this being a Saturday. However the morning stillness would soon be shattered by some great sounding cars. One of those cars belonged to one Laura Seacrest. She had set out a bit earlier in her customized Mustang, hoping to beat the imminent rush to Nob Hill. Upon reaching the main road facing downhill, she parked the muscle car on the sidewalk, and patiently waited. While she waited she saw two young men walk out across the street and place 2 glowing flares in the center. She knew what these flares were meant for but she knew not to cross them yet, as the organisers would no doubt be keeping a close eye on the starting line. All the racers knew that starting on their journey before time meant instant disqualification.

A couple of miles away near the industrial parks, a rusty old garage door rattled into life. A minute later a roar of power emanated from the car parked just behind it. The BMW M3 GTS looked sinister in its black paint coating and the light morning glow as it rolled out onto the adjacent street. Despite that it was primarily built for achieving incredible speeds, the sports car broke no limits as it began its descent to Nob Hill. The driver knew that seeking attention from other vehicles at this point in time was not recommended.

Mark was travelling extremely light due to the fact that he was switching cars and that he needed to be quick when doing it. Cell phone, wallet, tablet and a flask of coffee were the only things he had on him. If needed, there was a change of clothing in the boots of all the vehicles.

While driving the police scanner sitting on his dashboard crackled. "Attention, All units," it sounded. "We have multiple vehicles moving at a high rated speed towards the Nob hill area. I need all available units to respond to this call."

Mark grimaced. If only the other racers could be as convenient as he was being.

Within ten minutes he had reached the top of the main road and was turning into position when the tablet on the passenger turned itself on. An orange countdown from 30 appeared on the screen. Mark looked ahead. Before him a few meters away burned two red flares. The starting point. But then something on the sidewalk caught his eye. A bright green and purple Mustang was parked there with its engine idling. He recognized it immediately as Laura Seacrest.

Beside him the tablet showed a big 5.

Not being distracted he placed his hand on the gear change and lightly lifting his foot off the brake pedal. As he did his side mirror lit with blue and red flashing lights.

"_You ready to play?"_ he thought.

3…2…1…

He floored it.

The rear tyres spun creating a layer of white smoke as he shot forward. As he did the street in front of him flooded with other cars. Fellow racers who had been waiting on the side streets out of sight. There were too many to count. At the same time the mustang jumped off the sidewalk and disappeared into the rolling mass of tyres and spoilers.

Mark was a bit of a daredevil. After passing the flares he spun onto the sidewalk. Fortunately they were clear of pedestrians as it was early. Passing several cars at once he noticed in the corner of his eye that the SFPD had come out of nowhere, guns blazing. They were without hesitation, smashing and trying to stop any car in their path. Mark's car began jumping down the main road, each time landing with a huge crunch. Thankfully the suspension was stronger than it looked.

As he reached the bottom of Nob hill the tablet had reactivated and was showing its map of the US. The red dot at the West Coast indicated his position, while the orange line showed the route. Suddenly the number 150 and the word 'Jasper' appeared in the state of Nevada. Mark understood what this meant. It meant that he would have to be one of the top 150 drivers when he reached the town of Jasper, otherwise he would be out of the race.

With the police scanner constantly updating him, Mark quickly made his way to the junction that would take him over the bridge. He knew that he had to get out of the city pronto as the cops were attempting to shut down all the major roads.

Apart from slamming into an orange Zonda going in the same direction, Mark made it onto the bridge unscathed. Keeping on the outside lane he hit a speed of 160 mph, swerving to avoid the occasional vehicle. As he exited the tunnel on the other side of the bridge, he looked ahead to see a major police roadblock blocking all the lanes. It was made up of 'rhinos,' the SFPD's fleet of Porsche Cayennes. Mark knew with certainty that if he hit them he would be totaled. Looking in his rear view he saw he was leading quite a large convoy of 5 or 6 other racers. He had an idea. Maintaining watch in his mirrors he got into a position that had no cars trailing behind him. The roadblock was only 300 meters away now. Making sure no-one was sitting on his tail, Mark hit the brakes with such force that it made him be thankful for his seatbelt. The M3 screeched and fell back into the convoy, just missing a car on either side. By then the other racers had seen the roadblock but were going too fast to stop. The first three cars ploughed into the SUVs, two flipping over with the third burying itself in one of the 4x4s. The Cayennes were forced apart creating a sizable opening in the barricade, which the other racers wasted no time going through. Mark wasted no time either, smashing the accelerator with his foot and shooting through the ruined roadblock. The highway then stretched into open country, leaving the city limits. Mark took in a deep breath. For a quick moment he could relax. The SFPD would now be calling in state troopers as the racers had left their jurisdiction. It would be a while before they caught up but Mark would be taking no chances. Looking down at the tablet he noticed a number had appeared in the corner of the screen. 198.

Mark turned his attention back to the road. He was going to have to pass 48 racers by tonight when he reached Jasper.

It was going to be a long trip.

Not far behind him, through the ruined roadblock passed two dark purple sports cars, their models being uncertain and without number plates. A moment later a dark red exotic with yellow decals sped through behind them. While it was apparent that they were racing they kept at a certain speed, creating no chaos as they glided past other cars on the highway…

An hour later when the mess had been cleared, a black and yellow Camaro and a white supercar with red and green stripes roared onto the bridge, also heading out of the city.

Any other motorists or bystanders watching the scene unfold failed to notice that a few of these cars, these last five cars racing, lacked drivers…

The Run was underway.

**To be Continued…**


	3. Road Rage

**Road Rage**

**Altamont Pass, California…**

The red exotic continued to make little hype as it sped along the highway. The 'driver' knew not to raise unnecessary attention, but was not worried if he did, as it was not like anyone would be able to stop him. He did though enjoy creating quite a havoc by driving on the wrong side of the road and seeing how the civilian cars swerved to avoid the oncoming maroon missile. At that point the red custom was only accompanied by one of the dark purple cars that had been driving with him. The other had been sent ahead to monitor for any 'racers' that would attempt to stop him from continuing the race. The 'driver' of the exotic snickered. Somehow he knew that there would not be any major interference on his journey, as his 'passenger' was his assurance of that.

The 'driver' looked to the person sitting in the passenger seat. "So, are we enjoying our little ride in the countryside yet?" he smirked as he turned back to the job in hand.

The passenger didn't reply as his mouth was gagged by the seatbelt tightly wrapped around him…

…..

The wind turbines made no sound as they slowly turned to the light wind. The wind farm was a sight to behold due to its apparent vastness, but most of the drivers on the highway didn't pay much attention to them. They were too busy concentrating on the high speed road ahead of them, and no-one at that point was more concentrated on the road than Mark. The BMW was hitting speeds of 180 mph as it cruised in-between other cars in a bid to keep up and overtake the other racers. While these racers were eager to make extreme haste in the effort of winning the Run, they were not stupid. By keeping under the 200 mph limit they ran less risk of potentially crashing into civilian vehicles, effectively totaling theirs and putting them out of the running. There was also the factor of fuel consumption, as by not pacing themselves would lead to more gas stops. This was a point that the authorities tended to exploit, with regular patrols centered around petrol stations on all major roads.

191, 190, 189. The latest number, a blue Golf Gti, was putting up a fight to maintain its position. Mark made sure to stay close to the outside lanes and only using nitrous when he there was no traffic in a lane for a good 200 meters. He needed this car to survive until he reached Colorado.

Finally leaving the Golf behind him, Mark found himself on a rather open part of the Altamont Pass. The GPS on the tablet told him that the next racer was roughly 4 miles ahead of him. Putting on the car's cruise control, he settled at the pace of 177 mph in an empty lane and took a deep breath. He had jumped 9 racers before getting even close to the borders of the National Park. This meant he was well on track. If his calculations were correct the top 80 racers had already made it to Jasper. There they would have received their objectives and wasted no time in heading to Chicago. Mark knew he would have to overtake as many cars as he could while going over the California hills, as muscle cars built for acceleration would prove to be difficult to pass while on the straights of the Desert Valley.

Settling in, Mark took a moment to relax. Since his coffee had run out some time ago, he was going to need as much quiet time as he could afford. While this may have been deemed impossible while driving at such speeds, the empty parts of the roads provided some much appreciated calmness.

However his silence was then interrupted by the sudden sound of an incoming racer. By the sounds of it he was travelling quite fast. Now Mark was not one to nit-pick, but he did not enjoy it when a racer that he had officially left in the dust came back for another shot. Tensing up he turned the cruise control off and placed his foot on the pedals. But before he had a chance to think a purple custom roared into view, cutting past the M3 so close that Mark had no choice but to lightly swerve to the left. Regaining control of the vehicle he turned his attention to the opponent, who seemed to be wasting no time in proceeding. Mark activated a short burst of nitrous and set off in pursuit. He had to marvel at the impressive speed that the racer was going at, but that impression was short lived as he came up to run alongside the other car, each running at the exact speed.

Suddenly the other car swerved towards him. There was a horrible screech of tearing metal as the car collided with the right side of the M3. Mark was momentarily thrown off balance and struggled to maintain control. Making a split second decision Mark hit the nitrous button again, which propelled his car forward with a small burst. With a swing of the steering wheel he positioned himself right in front of the opponent, ensuring that he would not be able to pass. But that was not what the other driver apparently had in mind. Without hesitation he slammed his car into the back of Mark's. Mark was thrown forward in his seat but kept control. Pulling back the opponent slammed into him a second time. Mark managed to stay in control but then cringed at the sound of tearing metal as the two cars collided. Unbeknownst to him his rear bumper had crumpled under the impact and had fallen off. Noticing the body part disappearing with distance in his rear view mirror, a frown appeared on Marks face.

Nobody dented his prized car and got away with it unscathed.

Gripping the steering wheel, he slowly moved to the left side and microscopically lifted his foot off the accelerator. The M3 dropped back to the left so that the rear wheels were in line with the other cars front wheels. The other driver had to applaud this racer's stupidity. He was making this too easy for him. Maintaining his current speed he readied to take a fourth swing at the black coupe'.

But before he could Mark forcefully hit the brakes. At the same time he wrenched the steering to the left. As he skidded out his rear wheel slid to the right and smashed into the opponent's front left wheel. The force of the blow forced the opponent's wheel to change direction, causing the entire car to turn towards the right side of the freeway. Also at the same time the wheel was forced inward so much that the front wheels made contact with the body of the car and were forced to lock up, causing the entire vehicle to basically flip. Unfortunately at that point they were on a bridge over a small valley. The purple racer sailed over the barrier and disappeared down into the valley underneath, where eventually the sound of a mighty crash could be heard. Mark continued to skid sideways as the M3 eventually came to a stop, the tread marks of his stunt seared onto the road surface. He panted. In a nut shell, intense driving. Feeling no remorse or concern for the other driver (since he had caused considerable damage to the rear of his beloved car), he put the M3 into first gear and continued on his journey. He had lost time with that confrontation and was concerned about the distance between him and the next number. As he continued down the freeway he noticed a sign welcoming motorists to the National Park.

There was now some intense cornering to be done now…

….

The 'driver' of the red custom was receiving no response from the purple car he had sent ahead to scout. He was growing frustrated. Turning on his news feed linked to this world's internet, he was shocked to discover that the above mentioned car had crashed into a valley due to a duel with another racer. The driver of the vehicle had apparently not been identified yet.

"_And they never will."_ Thought the driver to himself, annoyed that one of his subordinates had managed to be taken out by a pathetic human. Nevertheless he would be more than happy to eventually avenge him. If he was correct, the vermin responsible was not far ahead, heading into a natural elevated area officially designated 'Yosemite National Park.' "_Perfect. Away from prying eyes." _he thought.

He turned his attention back to his 'passenger.' "Seems a racer is not playing nice. Should we teach him a lesson?" he asked.

He didn't expect a reply, because even if he was able to speak, the 'driver' knew that the twelve-year-old boy wouldn't answer due to the evident fear in his eyes behind the red-rimmed glasses…

….

A hundred miles behind the red exotic, the driver of a black and yellow Camaro was also concentrating on the road. He and another white sports car had just left the city limits of San Francisco and were making haste onto the Altamont Pass. Suddenly, through a communications device connecting the two vehicles, the 'driver' of the white cruiser spoke.

"Remind me why you needed me to join you on this mission?" he asked with attitude.

To that a series of harsh beeps and tones were emitted from the Camaro's dashboard.

Its driver, a sixteen year old raven-haired boy, may not have known what those noises meant precisely, but he knew what answer he could give the other 'driver.'

"Bee's right, Wheeljack." He replied. "We can't be certain that the others can intercept Knock Out when he's in Jasper, not when he's got Raf. Our best chance is to follow him and wait until he makes a stop of some kind."

The teenager hoped that that would be soon though. He couldn't imagine what his young friend was going through right now… 

**To be continued….**


	4. a Walk in the Park

**A Walk in the Park**

**Ellery Pass, California…**

The white speedster was cutting through traffic at such speeds that forced other motorists to get out of the way fast. The engine roared with power and fury as the mountains of Yosemite National Park began to pass on either side of the roadway. But while this 'driver' was more than enthusiastic to make good haste**, **the black and yellow Camaro behind him was being more cautious, indicating when overtaking and not going off the freeway sides to save a few seconds. The two cars had been on the road for a few hours now and despite their progress, they had not yet seen any sign of their target.

"How do we even know that Knock Out will continue on the route of this 'Run' all the way to the other side of this continent?" Wheeljack asked angrily. He had been ordered by Optimus Prime to rendezvous with Jack and Bumblebee in San Francisco after the scout and his charge had been attacked by the decepticon medic. Despite the former wrecker not usually adhering to anyone's chain of command, he had agreed to assist after it was revealed that the 'con had taken the 12-year-old hostage. However it was confusing that Knock Out had not simply bridged back to the _Nemesis_ with the boy, or that no ransom demands had been received. Nevertheless, they had set out in pursuit of them in the hopes of catching up with them and rescuing their young friend, though they still didn't have an idea of how they could do that without threatening Raf's safety.

"We don't." Jack replied. "All we can hope is that he doesn't bridge back to the decepticon warship before he reaches Jasper."

"And what if he just carries on past there?" Wheeljack inquired.

Angry beeps and whirs emitted from Bumblebee's dashboard.

"Wheeljack, what did Bumblebee say?" Jack looked for clearance.

"He said that we'll keep driving, no matter what." He replied solemnly.

Jack felt sorry for Bumblebee. The scout had remained disturbingly quiet throughout their journey. It seemed that the notion that he had been unable to successfully protect his partner when the enemy doctor and two of his subordinates had unexpectedly shown up. The usual routine of patrolling the west coast had always showed no results in terms of decepticon activity. Due to this no-one had objected to the idea of Rafael going along with Bumblebee on his usual patrol in order to see the sights and sounds of the major cities and of the Pacific Ocean. It came as quite a shock to the other autobots when Bumblebee had called in to say that they had been attacked and in the ensuing battle, the decepticon medic had taken off with the kid in tow. Why the 'con had done this remained a mystery to them. However a few hours later Agent Fowler had reported that a red sports car resembling Knock Out had been caught on camera of being part of a massive convoy of illegal street racers heading out of the bay area. After learning of the ongoing race known as 'the Run,' Jack had been bridged to Nobb Hill and had set off in pursuit with the scout.

"And we still don't know why he grabbed the kid?" Wheeljack asked.

"No idea." Jack replied. He knew from personal experience that Knock Out enjoyed a good race, but it didn't account as to why he would take a hostage. All Jack could hope for was that the other autobots could stop the medic when he reached Jasper, otherwise he had no idea what they could do if they didn't.

He also had concern for the other racers on this 'Run.' Knock Out was known to play dirty, especially if provoked.

He went back to concentrating on the road as the two cars entered the borders of the National Park.

**Tioga Pass Road, Yosemite National Park…**

The winding twisty roads of Yosemite National Park were proving to be a challenge to even the most professional of drivers. Slippery patches and sudden drops remained a constant peril for those trying to drive through the National Park in the hopes of being the fastest. However they maintained caution as reports of a few accidents involving reckless driving and excessive speeding on the roads ahead were coming in.

These troubles and hazards applied to everyone, including Mark as he headed towards Ellery Lake. The M3's tires were struggling to find grip on the damp roads and as a result, Mark was forced to be extremely careful on all corners. He checked the readouts. Currently his average speed was 110 mph. This was not good enough. He had only passed 3 racers in the last 2 hours. While the distance between racers was beyond his control, it was a deeply annoying factor in his journey. Nevertheless, Mark remained calm and continued to concentrate on the road ahead.

Over the past few years the Run had built up a reputation of being a challenge to complete, let alone win. Last year alone 9 racers had been killed in accidents across the country due to the harsh route and competitiveness from other racers. While this endeavor may be deemed insane, there was major motivation to compete in it. More than 200 racers each contributing an entry fee each in the region of $250,000, combined with exterior betting pools and possible underground sponsorship deals, totaled to approximately $25 million. To many people, this race was a ticket out of their current situations/problems.

Turning an extremely tight corner the M3's tail slid out, momentarily throwing its driver off course. However by simply wrenching the steering wheel from one direction to the other, Mark straightened himself onto the road once again. He looked ahead to see that the road start to climb uphill, leading to quite a steep cliff on its right side. Mark made note to be careful. But before he could think further he spotted a car in front of him. The vinyl of an 8-ball on its back window and the short burst of blue flame coming from its exhaust immediately told him that this was a racer. The car, a Pontiac Firebird, was having trouble climbing the steep road due to its overload of power on the rear wheels and the slippery road. Mark was confident. While these classic muscle cars were known to be demons on the straights, they were rubbish when it came to handling. Making no fuss Mark sailed past the Firebird without a second glance, releasing a short shot of nitrous to ensure the lead. Looking in his rear view he saw that the opponent was attempting to catch up by applying more power, but only managing to spin out his tires more. Mark had to smirk. He started to turn back to the road ahead.

But then something caught his eye. Looking behind he could just make out two other cars coming up fast by either side. As they drew closer a roar of power could be heard from the red one's engine. Mark tried to make out what model it was, but his attention was more turned on the other. With a surprise he saw that it was identical to the car that had attempted to run him off the road earlier. The color, the body kit, all the same. Eyes still on the mirror Mark watched as both cars seemed to pause as they came up behind the Firebird, as if they were thinking about what to do. After another moment the purple custom accelerated and came to be level with the Firebird, with the red car remaining behind it.

Suddenly to Mark's horror, the purple racer swerved and collided with the muscle car. The force of the impact forced the Firebird off the road and there was a sickening crunch as the front of the car crashed into the barrier. The front of the car was crumpled and all the windows were blown out by the aftershock of the collision. Fortunately Mark could just make out movement from within the cabin as the driver moved to free himself from the wreckage. However his attention then had to turn back to the duo, who had increased their speed and were gaining on him. Mark had no doubt that the car that had attacked him had been part of this crew. He turned back to road in front.

He yelled as he was forced to hit the brakes. Due to the commotion behind him he had failed to notice the sharp bend in the road. The M3's brake discs screeched as the car slowed down to slide round the corner, but in doing so the pursuing cars had caught up to Mark and as result, the red exotic slammed into the back of the M3. The interlocked cars skidded round the bend and were forced to slow down to maintain control. The other purple car kept its distance from this commotion. The 'driver' had been ordered by his superior to not intervene. The 'driver' of the exotic had made clear that he wanted to personally run this driver off the road, despite the possible damage to his finish.

Mark wasted no time in staying ahead. Releasing a nitrous shot he scooted forward on the wrong side of the road. The road ahead now was straight, allowing for freedom of speed. But Mark was unable to get started as the red exotic slammed into his tail shattering his rear lights. Zooming ahead he took another swing, crumpling the passenger door inward. Mark was struggling to maintain control. He knew that this car was seeking vengeance for his crew member and was obviously willing to go all the way.

Mark gritted his teeth. His car was taking damage and his wellbeing was being threatened.

He knew he had to drive for his life.

Dropping back so that he was at half level with the other car he got into position to swing brake once again in an attempt to crash him.

But the exotic beat him to the blow. With speed it swung to the left and its front right side slammed into Mark's crumpled passenger door. The impact loosened Mark's grip on the road and the M3 began to drift to the center with the opponent basically pushing his car down the road. Mark struggled to keep the wheel in place. He knew that if he applied power he would shoot to the right in front of the other car and go sailing over the cliff, but he couldn't stay in this position as at some point his car's wheels would find grip on the tarmac while travelling sideways, and with the aid of the other car propelling him he would flip over.

The 'driver' of the red exotic took pleasure in thinking about this possibility. He increased his speed despite the frightened and pleading looks he was receiving from his 'passenger.' He smirked.

"Pay attention, boy." He said. "This is what will happen to your guardian if he tries to prevent me from losing this race."

The 'passenger' averted his eyes as he was too afraid to watch the approaching accident.

Mark kept the steering wheel in place. Making a split-second decision he placed his foot above the brake pedal and put his hand on the gear lever in preparation. In a single swift movement he slammed his foot on the brakes, slipped the car into neutral and wrenched the steering wheel to the left. The M3's brakes screeched as the two cars separated and the M3 fell back to the left in a skew position. He was free.

But he wasn't done yet.

Almost immediately after getting clear of the red car and while he was still at half level beside it, he pulled into first gear and stabbed down on a switch on the dashboard. Instantly a pillar of blue flame erupted from the M3's exhausts as a large amount of nitrous was released into the engine. The BMW rocketed forward and due to its proximity instantly made contact with the attacking vehicle. The M3's right headlight, bumper and wheel dug into the driver door of the red exotic creating a sizable dent and scratches in the metal. The side window was also blown out due to the force of the impact, glass flying everywhere.

Its 'driver' yelled out in pain.

But the collision didn't stop there. Because of the sudden increase in speed Mark's car maintained level with the exotic and the entire right side of his car slid along the left side of the other car. Metal screeched and tires screamed as the two cars maintained contact as they shot down the hill. As they were level Mark glanced to his right to look inside the exotics cockpit as its window had shattered.

He received the shock of his life by what he saw.

The driver's seat was devoid of any driver. The steering wheel appeared to be moving by itself.

And in the passenger seat, tightly wrapped up in what looked like the seatbelt, mouth gagged, was a young boy. His eyes full of fear as the car was rocked by the connection of the two cars. Mark saw a trickle of blood coming from his temple, presumably from hitting the window when Mark had collided with the other car.

"What." Mouthed Mark, wide eyed at what he saw.

For a moment they remained in that position but then the purple custom which had been trailing behind all this time, decided that enough was enough and without hesitation he accelerated forward and slammed into the back of the BMW. The blow threw Mark forward in his seat. The two cars separated but maintained level. The 'driver' of the exotic then decided to get back to the job in hand. The red car pulled slightly to the right before ploughing to the left towards the M3. There was a bang as its body slammed into the M3's right front wheel. There was immediately another bang and a shower of sparks erupted from the M3's wheel arch. The rim had been forced inward by the blow and had jammed into the brake caliber, slightly jamming the wheel itself. Mark had no choice but to slow down. The M3 dropped back behind the other two cars and slowed down to a complete stop. The other cars didn't bother confronting their target again and continued to drive down the road.

"Till we meet again." Said the 'driver' of the red exotic as he and his subordinate disappeared from the M3's view.

Mark got out of his car and walked round to the damaged wheel. It was crackling due to the immense friction heat that it had just been exposed to. Turning round though he looked to the road where his attackers had disappeared from sight. He had a frown on his face and was confused and concerned.

A driverless car.

Strange purple customs.

A boy bound and gagged.

WHAT did he just see?

**To be continued…**


	5. Information

**Information**

**Death Valley, Nevada…**

The sound of drilling and welding could be heard coming from the back of the gas station. Apart from the occasional roar of a racer going by, it was the only sound to break the stillness that hung over the area that was named Death Valley for a reason. The proprietor of the station was not one to allow strangers access to his tools in his workshop, but the two hundred dollars now in his pocket had convinced him to make an exception for this young man and his dented sports car.

Mark had managed to limp through Panamint Valley despite the damage to his front wheels. Upon arriving at a gas station just past the border of the state of Nevada he had set about repairing the M3 to the best of his abilities. Apart from the dents, scratches and gashes in the bodywork, and the fact that he had to disengage the All-wheel drive system to make do with just rear-wheel drive, the BMW was still able to move. But he was losing time. Jasper was a hundred and seventy-five miles away and every time a racer went by, he was losing less chance of being in the top 150.

Making final adjustments Mark slammed down the hood of the car and got in. Turning the key he was greeted by what he considered to be the greatest sound in the world. The M3 rolled out the garage and gently got back onto the road before giving a roar of its mighty V8 and speeding off towards the competition. Almost immediately it shot past a green Scirocco. Mark looked ahead. Before him stretched a long flat highway.

While he was still in the capacity to drive, Mark was shaken up. Not by the attack that had taken place earlier in the mountains, but by what he had seen during it. He had seen an impossible thing. A sports car driving itself. Not only that, but a self-driving car with apparent thugs. And a hostage. A kid, twelve years old by the look of it. The look on his face told Mark that he was beyond scared of what was happening. Not surprising actually, considering who his apparent kidnapper was; but more importantly, of what was happening around him. Kids didn't belong in street racing. And this particular race was far from being the exception. Mark may have been a criminal, but this situation was beyond his acceptance of tolerating.

But what exactly could he do? The red exotic had probably made some impressive ground after the attack, and reached Jasper already. And even if he did manage to catch up with it, he couldn't risk another duel with it, not without threatening the kids safety or taking more damage to his car. The BMW had to make it to the Rockies in one piece.

Mark was pulled back into reality when suddenly the police scanner on the dashboard crackled into life.

"Attention, Death Valley district." A female voice rang out. "Confirmation of barrier set-up on Old Spanish Trail on the East side. Additional units have been notified and are en route. Sightings report approximately 15 racers have entered proximity. Use of force has been granted by superiors."

"Roger that, control." Said a man's voice before adding "They won't know what hit 'em."

The scanner went dead. Mark processed this new information. Obviously California had tipped off its neighbor of the incoming racing 'enthusiasts' and Nevada was getting ready for a full blown battle. Judging by his position Mark didn't suspect that he had been one of the vehicles spotted, as he was still 40 miles from the official start of the trail. But this was bad news. Mark had been hoping to avoid a clash with cops, especially with a confrontation this big. Nevada highway patrol were known for having skill.

Suddenly Marks tablet flickered. Looking down he saw a map of Death Valley and surroundings had appeared on the screen as well as a black and white symbol in the corner. A black flame with tribal decals around it. Mark recognized it immediately. It was the insignia of the Corps, the organizers of the Run. They were sending a message to all participants. A portion of the red line indicating the route through Death Valley started to flash. Suddenly it disappeared and almost immediately a new red line appeared a little way above it on a new road. The flame insignia then disappeared but the map remained showing Mark the new line. Checking it properly he saw that it was running on Junction Road North before returning to the main highway leading up to Jasper.

Mark could've jumped for joy at that moment. The Corps had clearly been spooked by the barrier on the trail and had opted to give racers an alternate pathway. There was just one problem. Junction Road was notorious for its sandstorms. This usually deterred racers from using it but this was neither a problem nor a choice for Mark. Taking it slowly and being cautious was far better than being beaten up by the cops. Not only that but he would now bisect any racers already on the trail and dealing with the hazard.

He couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for the ones already on the trail.

Ignoring that thought he turned his attention back to the road and slid into fifth gear, the engine rising in tone and aggression-sounding. A minute later he passed another racer…

**Jasper, Nevada…**

The quietness of Jasper was momentarily shattered by the revving of a sleek red sports car and a purple custom. They had just entered the city center and were pausing at a stop sign thinking about where to go.

Knock Out was fuming. His side window and mirror were gone, and the dents on his door and side bumpers stood out like ugly scars. He was a 'con who prided himself on always looking at his finest, and he felt somewhat 'exposed' like this. And to think a human had done this! He would pay dearly.

So why doesn't he?

He looked at his 'passenger.' The bleeding on Raf's forehead had thankfully subsided but had left a nasty gash on the right side and blood stains on his orange jersey.

"You know Raf," said Knock Out. "We have some time on our hands now, and I really need to sort myself out. Why don't we find a quiet spot to relax while my friend here can keep an eye out and tell us when that nasty black coupe' shows up. Then we can thank him for what he did to both of us."

Even if Raf had the courage to respond, he still wasn't able to with the seat belt wrapped tight around his mouth.

"Nothing to say, hey?" sneered the decepticon. "Good."

However in Raf's mind, he was hoping against all hopes that the autobots would come to the rescue at this point. Despite being so close, he had never felt so far away from home.

After he had relayed orders to his subordinate and had sent him on surveillance duty, Knock Out headed towards the outskirts of town near the industrial district, hoping to find somewhere to stretch his legs. Annoyingly he would also have to somehow cater for the humans needs, as the boy was only useful to him if he was in good shape.

A few minutes later at the same intersection a purple and green Mustang slowed to a stop before pulling into a gas station on the other side of the main road. Its driver immediately got out and proceeded to fill the tank up at one of the pumps. Leaning against the back bumper she took a deep breath. Deciding to have a bit of fun during this little break, she took out her mobile phone and dialed a number…

**Junction Road South, Nevada…**

It was proving impossible to see even more than 100 meters of the tarmac in front of Mark. Sand particles were getting into every nook and cranny of the car and because of which, he was silently praying that none of the cylinder heads had been broken or cracked during the attack. Too much sand particles in just one of the pistons would amount to a complete failure of the engine block.

Another mile passed and thankfully the storm began to subside. The road became clear enough to fully open up the engine again. Mark began to relax and marvel at his good fortune. The last hour and a half had seen him fly by five racers (newbies judging by how slow they were going). To add to that, constant updates on the police scanner informed him that the barrier on the Old Spanish Trail had been somewhat of a success, with a total of 12 racers apprehended. The readout on Mark's tablet now displayed the large and orange numbers 163. Mark grinned to himself. He was back in the Run.

Suddenly he heard the sound of his ringtone. Taking out his mobile phone he switched it on loudspeaker. "Hello?" he said.

"Glad to see you beat your habit of sleeping late." A female voice came through.

Mark smiled again. "I thought I recognized that Mustang sitting on the sidewalk. Did you actually get that thing to move?"

"You're just jealous 'cause I know how to make a car look good and you don't." she replied.

Mark had to laugh. "Just once, because it's good to hear from you Laura, I will agree with you."

Mark had met Laura Seacrest last year at a blacklist race outside San Diego. She was an art student who, with the 'assistance' of her rich parents, had taking to racing to display her works of art in the form of body decals. Upon meeting her Mark had taken a liking to the young lady with her charming wit and artistic talent. However conversing with her in person was a rare occasion due to the fact that while Mark's reputation and racing territory ran along the West Coast, Laura's was concentrated around Seattle and surrounding areas.

"You too." Laura said. "Where are you now?"

"Junction Road. About 110 miles from Jasper." He replied.

"Position?"

"163. You?"

"132. Just reached Jasper."

"Damn." Said Mark. "That's quite impressive. But I'm not hearing your engine in the background. You taking a break?"

"Just refueling. A few of the racers who are officially in the 150 are taking breaks now. Arrogant enough to assume that the race is on hold just for them while they sleep the night here tonight."

"Hehe." Smirked Mark. "Newbies. But wait, are you talking to other people on the road?"

"A few. But I'm actually, believe or not, chatting with a Corp."

"What?" he asked surprised. "You serious? Aren't they supposed to stay away from participants?"

"Oh, relax. He's one of the lower ranking ones. He's part of monitoring where racers are and what they're driving."

"Wait. They have a database?"

"Yeah. How'd you think they can be certain of who eventually wins this damn thing?" Laura asked sarcastically.

She had a point. Suddenly Mark had a thought.

"So," he asked. "This guy knows who the racers are, where they are and what they're driving."

"Pretty much." Laura replied. The sound of a fuel cap snapping shut could be heard on her end.

An idea began to form in Mark's head.

"Laura," he said. "I need you to do a favor for me. I need you to talk to this Keyper and ask him to check out a racer for me."

"Well, I can try but no promises." Laura replied. "I don't know how secretive this thing is. But why do you need info on a particular driver?"

"Not just one." Replied Mark. "I think it's a crew of three. I totaled one back in California but the other two attacked me in Yosemite. Two no-names; one dark red with yellow decals, the other a dark purple. Both of them have unknown number plates and are both two-door coupes'."

"You were attacked in Yosemite?" Laura asked in surprise as she started up her engine. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, but I saw something back there," Mark breathed. "And I'm not exactly sure what it was."

There was silence for a moment. Laura knew Mark to be a bit playful at times, but the edge in his voice told her that he was being serious.

"Okay. I'll see what I can do." She said finally.

"Thanks Laura." Said Mark. "Be careful out there."

"You too. Gotta go now. Talk to you soon."

"Will do. And Laura?" Mark said.

"Yeah?" she asked.

Mark smiled. "No leniency when I catch up with you, hey."

To this Laura also smiled. "Wasn't planning on giving any." She replied.

Signing off Mark turned back to the road in front of him. Another sandstorm had started to kick up. Ahead of him he could just make out a convoy of two or three racers speeding into the distance.

He began his final push towards Jasper.

**Just outside Jasper…**

The giant mesas towered above the highway as Laura sped through the desert valley heading out of the small town. As she raced along she past a small side road that, after a short distance, wound its way around the colossal land formations. However she took no notice of it and continued on her journey.

A few minutes later a khaki green SUV and a dark blue motorcycle appeared from the side road and turned onto the highway heading back towards Jasper.

**To be continued…**

**Author's note: Sorry about the delay. Struggling to find time to write these days. That and I am furious with myself over having such difficulty writing for my other story. Hope you enjoy this prelude to a showdown!**

**Sjspilz3**


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